


Man and Legend

by Lady Sarai (lady_sarai)



Category: Outlaws of Sherwood - McKinley
Genre: F/M, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-27
Updated: 2008-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_sarai/pseuds/Lady%20Sarai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But there was a time not long ago that I thought all you would ever let me have of you was your legend--and--and I might at least use that to some effect." Marian's thoughts before the Fair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man and Legend

**Author's Note:**

> Written for: seventhe in Yuletide 2008

Marian could not say when she fell in love with Robin. It was as if the feeling had always been there, waiting for her to notice it, patient and true. As they grew older, so did her love; of course she knew she loved him, but was her love for Robin any different than her love for Much? If she had thought on it any harder than that, the answer would have been blazingly obvious, but being young and silly, introspection tended to bore Marian into daydreams of adventures she could be having with Robin instead of learning to embroider neatly.

It was, perhaps, the day Robin killed Tom Moody and became an outlaw that she recognized this feeling for what it was. Or it might have been when Robin's father died and Robin became, out of necessity and grief, more serious and _adult_. (Of course, Much might have said that Robin was _born_ an adult.) Marian had convinced herself that she worried for him because he was her friend, and because that is what friends do, worry over one another. But then Robin did not meet her and Much at the fair as he had promised and then he was late, and then--and then all was changed.

Marian could not say when she fell in love with Robin, but in love she was. She loved him for all that he was and all that he could be--and for what he meant to the people of Nottingham. His legend--could one be a legend when one was alive and so very real that hypothermia and starvation were such constant, _present_ dangers?--was growing, as surely as his band of men, and just as against his wishes. Marian loved _that_ about him, too--his fierce protectiveness and resolution to keep his people safe, his unwavering practicality. Even the scowl that made so many of his men cower in his boots made Marian smile privately to herself when she saw it.

But those very traits that she loved about him were also what _hurt_ her most. What Marian wanted--had wanted, for longer than she could bear to think on--was for Robin to share her feelings. No. She knew, in the sort of way that she knew her own feelings--that Robin loved her. She knew him far too well to not read those signs in him, and perhaps she looked for them a bit harder than necessary.

One might think that the knowledge that Robin loved her would make loving him in return less painful.

The problem was that Robin was ever _practical_ and _rational_. Should she ever bring the matter up for discussion, she knew what he would say. He would argue with her. He would not want to put her in danger, he would not want her to give up her home and her family and titles--he was _beneath_ her--_ha_!

The issue of marriage would most certainly never be stood for. It would not even merit discussion.

Every time she went into the forest, it was that much more difficult to leave again. Each farewell she resisted the urge to simply kiss him and call him a fool. In her mind, she did. (She did a great deal in her mind that, daring and impulsive as she tended to be on occasion, she would never do in reality.) When she was in town, or at the market, or anywhere there were people in crowds, her ears picked out "Robin Hood" more easily than they noticed her own name. If she was particularly attentive to the tales and stories, she could be excused. After all, she had always had a flair for the dramatic, hadn't she?

Marian took the stories she heard and at night would lie in bed, unraveling and re-weaving them in her mind until she thought she could find the truth behind the newest myth. If Robin and eight of his men stole chests of gold right off a Bishop's cart while it was moving, it was more than likely Little John or Will who had stopped a cart and sent it on its way. And then she told the tale to herself again, embellishing in the right places, neglecting to include a boring or confusing bit there, so that he would remember to share it with Robin and the others the next time she went.

Lately, all talk of Robin centered around the Nottingham Fair and the tournament the Sheriff was arranging.

It was clearly a trap. Robin was right to avoid it. Marian could still see his expression when she told him of the prize--a golden arrow, indeed. It was worse than useless to them, out in the forest; it probably would not even fly. (Perhaps Robin would be able to shoot better than _her_, were she to use it.) Marian was _glad_ Robin would not be at the Fair.

Except.

Except she heard how the people spoke about him, the tone of awe and respect and _gratefulness_ they felt. Robin did not like to hear how important he was, how much _hope_ he brought to the townsfolk, but Marian knew it. (She loved him for both of these things, too--his stubborn refusal to acknowledge his own importance, and because of the way she felt when she heard people speak of him.)

Robin would not go to the Fair.

But Robin Hood _needed_ to be there. Marian was as sure of that as she was of her love for Robin and as she was that he would never return it in the way she wanted. Robin would never admit to her how he felt. He would never marry her. He would never allow her to move to the forest with them.

And he would be furious if he knew what she was planning, as she lay in her bed, watching the moon through her window, the night before the trap set by the Sheriff to catch the man they called Robin Hood.

Robin would not be there, but _Robin Hood_ could--and would--be.

Robin was the worst archer of them all, but Marian had always had a good eye. Her arrows flew true, and if she bound her breasts, wore pants and tucked her hair under a cap, well--no one knew what Robin Hood truly looked like anyway.

The townspeople needed this. They needed to see that their faith and hope was being entrusted to something _real_. If they did, their goodwill could only _help_ Robin.

It would be simple enough. It was something she could do, something Marian could give to them--and to Robin.

If Marian were to be honest with herself, she would know that she was not doing this for Robin, or for the people who believed in him.

No. Marian was doing this for herself.

If she could not have Robin, she could have his legend.


End file.
